tɦσsє sɦιиιиɡ oяЬs
by unseasonedaldentepasta
Summary: Dark! Italy x Reader / Home from war, Feliciano's personality is changed and his love notices that trait late one night / Inspired by The Ballad of Mona Lisa by Panic! At The Disco / Previously a request for someone from QZ and decided to upload here / Character death, swearing and gore, thus the rating.


║_I'd pay to see you frown_ ║

Her eyes fluttered open, uneasy. She looked around the small room that she shared with her Italian husband and sighed lightly when she saw the empty space on the bed next to her. The only signs that someone had previously been there were the small wrinkles in the bed sheets that they had missed when smoothing them out.

She closed her eyes again, trying not to panic. This was the third night since coming home from the grueling war last week that he had disappeared from her side.

Restless, was he? It made sense to her, though, that he would have trouble sleeping. She couldn't even begin to image the horrific images that his fragile, innocent little mind had witnessed on the battlefield. Shivering, she rolled out of the bed and grabbed her robe that was hanging on a hook in the bathroom. Tying the threadbare [f/c] string around her middle, she crossed her arms over her chest, sticking her hands in her armpits to warm them up, going off to find her missing Italian lover.

Soft footfalls padded through the house as she swiftly walked to his usual hangouts in their grand home. She first stuck her head in the kitchen, the small spark of hope that he would be in there dying out when she saw the spotless counters and cookware. Not even a speck of flour or sauce was available.

[Name] could almost make herself believe that Ludwig had stopped in for a late night visit, bugged into it by his hyperactive friend, and then cleaned up after the mess that Feliciano had made whilst making pasta.

The reality hit her like an iron fist striking her in the gut, her mind pushing the memory of the tear soaked letter she had received a few weeks before the war had officially ended, Feliciano writing to tell her that his best friend had died, honorably according to Kiku, in battle.

Come to think of it, now that her memories were sparked again, she remembered that he hadn't even once mentioned pasta. Let alone start to make any of the food he was always dying for.

She shook her head sadly, either to get her mind back to what she had been doing previously or to clear away the cobwebbed memories that her mind had dredged up was a mystery.

Wandering aimlessly around the house in search of him, thoughts racing through her mind, the woman almost didn't hear the sound of something being knocked over and hitting the floor, accompanied by a low "…Shit."

The woman raised her head to the ceiling, her [h/c] locks spilling down her shoulders in a messy wave as he brows furrowed. She wondered briefly if his brother had stopped by, and was in the attic with Feliciano.

"_No, Lovino hasn't come here at all, besides the fact that he wouldn't think of dropping in to visit his 'annoying fratello' in the middle of the night."_

The thought ran through her mind briefly before she brought her head back to a normal position. Massaging her now sore neck, she walked to the doorway that lead up to the attic.

Clutching the warm metal in her cold hands, [Name] took a deep breath through her nostrils before slowly letting the air blow out of her mouth through a small opening, her lips coming together in an oval shape.

Twisting the knob, she opened the door with a small creaking sound. Looking up, she called out his name to make sure that he knew she was coming and wouldn't be startled when she came up the steps.

The steps of the rickety stairs creaked under her weight, making her wince with each groan that the house made.

Pushing open the slightly ajar door with her hand, she poked her head inside to see what her love was up to at this time of night.

_He couldn't get to sleep._

It didn't come as much of a surprise to the man that he had been having trouble getting to sleep since finally coming home.

_**War would do that to a man. **_

Maybe it was the scenes of blood splattering all over the once pristine white snow in the dead of winter as the battle raged on; only stopping to celebrate Christmas-Like the fools could believe that they would not be right back to slaughtering each other again in only a matter of hours.

Or perhaps it was the screams, groans and cries emitting from the men's lips as they lay, some in mere pieces, on the battleground, hoping for salvation in a swift and merciful kill.

Of course, he couldn't forget watching the light of life leaving people's eyes right in front of him. He had clung onto them for dear life and begged them to stay.

_They had all left him in the end._

Even Ludwig, his supposed best friend, had left him. He had made one wrong move and his whole world came crumbling down. The man who had seemed so fierce and dominating, a force to be reckoned with, had been reduced to nothing.

_All with the sound of thunder [1] _

Of course, Kiku had tried to comfort his friend, telling him that he had died an honorable death out in the battlefield. Feliciano's brown orbs narrowed and he clenched the paintbrush in his hand harder when he remembered his former Japanese friend pointing out that Ludwig had died in order to better protect Feliciano.

What did he know about honor? The damn coward had committed suicide when he saw that it was hopeless for them to win.

_Talking about honor and you take the coward's way out._

Letting out a short bark of laughter, he turned back to the half done painting on the canvas in front of him. Ironically or not, in the scene, three different pairs of eyes-One a warm amber, another icy blue and the last a coal black, stared out blankly at three mangled bodies on the ground. Who they were intended to be was still unknown to everybody but the artist.

Blinking indifferently at the terrible image he was creating, he dipped his brush into the dark colors on his palette and swirled it around in the small puddle he had created. Careful not the drip any more paint on the floor, the overturned bucket had already made a long line of what looked liked dried blood, he touched the tip of it to the canvas.

When a loud gasp made him whirl around to see who the intruder was, paintbrush clenched tightly and raised in the air as if he would use it to beat off anyone who dared tried to get at him.

She couldn't help the gasp that had escaped her lips when she saw the scene that he had been painting. The eyes reminded her of days, and people, long gone. Right after she had slipped up, she immediately wished that she could take it back so she could watch him for a little while longer.

His hair flew around his head, settling back down soon after, when he whirled around. His once warm amber orbs were narrowed in anger and the paintbrush was positioned like it was a sword ready to plunge into one's heart.

When his hate-filled gaze locked with [Name]'s [e/c] one, his face almost immediately melted into one of sweetness and innocence.

_It was all just a show._

"Hey, I was just wondering what you were up to."

[Name] said, taking that as a cue to step more inside the attic room. It was in disarray, paint supplies-canvases, sheets, paints, brushes, sponges and everything else one could think of, stuffed into tin cans and scattered around the floor. Splashes of paint, most predominantly red, were all around the room.

She took a quick look around at it before spotting a small three legged stool, similar to the one that Feliciano was sitting on. She made sure not to step on anything as she tiptoed over. She carefully sat down and leaned forward to see what 'masterpiece' he had been making in the middle of the night.

She was only able to get a small peek at the eyes before he tore it off the canvas, throwing it into the middle of the room. She stared at the canvas, blinking in shock.

Feliciano gave no explanation, and she wasn't about to ask for one.

Picking up a new one, Feliciano hummed a small dark ditty as he swirled more colors together, ready to make another one.

[Name] watched him, not saying anything. She didn't want to disturb him from anything. He seemed most like himself right now, since he had come home.

"Hey, [Name]?"

He asked her, never taking his eyes off the brush as he began to make small, slow strokes, creating something.

"Si?"

She asked him in his native language. It was a few moments later as Feliciano created a turned down line, resembling a frown, before he asked,

"You'll never leave me, right?"

[Name] gave him a warm smile and placed a hand on his shoulder

"Never, I promise."

Feliciano grinned and picked up the brush, drawing two black circles. He drew more in so that they came to resemble eyes.

Turning around, he stared deeply into [Name]'s [e/c] orbs before looking around the room. Smiling, his hands reached for a bottle of paint…

_With a shade that matched her eyes completely _

•

[A/N]

[1]- Came off a story I had to read in Language Arts with the same name.

Sound of thunder-A gunshot

Is it sad to say that I nearly cried writing after writing about all of this?

**Inspiration: **The ballad of Mona Lisa © Panic! At the disco


End file.
